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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27756682">Traditions—Old and New</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego'>My_Alter_Ego</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Holidays [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>White Collar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A life on the run, Christmas Decorations, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:27:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27756682</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is trying to sell his new CI on the value of traditions. But it’s iffy whether Neal is buying into it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Burke &amp; Neal Caffrey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Holidays [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Traditions—Old and New</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and Neal was enjoying a short hiatus away from the Bureau. He was into painting this afternoon, and his creative juices were flowing when he got an annoying text from Peter demanding his presence. It was just a few months after an FBI Agent had plucked Neal from prison and plunked him down at a desk tantalizing close to the exit doors, but still hampered by a tracking device that would alert his lord and master if he strayed too far. It wasn’t an ideal situation for the young con man, but it was better than languishing behind bars plotting his next escape attempt, which could prove to be much harder this time around.</p><p>When the deal had been initially hammered out, Peter had made it clear that he owned Neal for the next four years, so today’s summons was a manifestation of that authority. Like always, Neal had to suck it up, so he merely sighed and put his paintbrush into a jar with mineral spirits to soak.</p><p>A half hour later, after cabbing it to Brooklyn, Neal saw Peter on the front lawn of his townhome struggling to untangle a nest of wired lights and muttering curse words that never left his lips at the Bureau. A few shrubs had already been festooned with the stubborn strands, but the job was far from finished.</p><p>“You’re good at unraveling puzzles, Neal, so give me a hand with these damn things,” Peter growled when Neal ventured close.</p><p>“Seriously, Peter? You called me on my day off to help you put up Christmas lights?” Neal muttered like a petulant teenager.</p><p>“Cut the attitude, Buddy,” Peter warned. “When I say jump, the only thing you can ask is ‘how high.’ Which brings up another task I have for you that concerns heights. When we finish with the foundation bushes, you can climb up the ladder to string the lights across the roof.”</p><p>“It’s your house, so why don’t you do it?” Neal sulked.</p><p>“Because I’m older than you, and if I fell, I’d probably break a hip,” Peter explained patiently.</p><p>“Well, I could be injured, as well,” Neal huffed.</p><p>“Neal, I’ve seen you dive out of a third floor judge’s window, and you bounced rather than breaking,” Peter said with a raised eyebrow. “You’re like a cat that always lands on its feet. Tell me I’m wrong.”</p><p>Neal didn’t have a snappy retort, so he was forced to take part in this ludicrous endeavor. However, it was a matter of principle that he say something disparaging. “I never figured you as a ‘<em>Griswold</em> <em>Christmas House’ </em>kind of guy, Peter. I could envision a tasteful holiday wreath on the door and maybe some candles in the windows, but lighting up your home like it’s a carnival attraction seems over the top for a professional man working for a federal agency.”</p><p>“Just stop trying to rile me up with your critique, Neal. I’ll have you know that this is a tradition that every one of the neighbors on this block respects and keeps alive. On the Sunday after Thanksgiving, we have the grand illumination and there’s a street party with drinks and homemade dishes of food.”</p><p>Neal digested this bit of trivia. “That sounds very ….convivial,” he muttered as he finally hit on a word that seemed sort of appropriate.</p><p>Peter smiled at his CI. “Don’t knock traditions, Buddy. They make people feel secure, like they’re part of something bigger than just themselves. Why don’t you start one of your own?”</p><p>“Like what, for example?” Neal asked curiously.</p><p>“Maybe like staying put so you can start feeling like you’re part of something bigger than just a life on the run. That’s gotta feel more secure for you.”</p><p>Neal refused to answer. He simply turned his back and ascended the ladder taking him high up near the eaves of his handler’s house. Later, they did a test run in the daylight, and every bulb shone brightly, so Peter could now rest easy that he could be proud during tomorrow night’s ‘grand illumination,’ with all the accompanying fanfare.</p><p>Later that afternoon saw Neal getting in another cab that would take him back to June’s house. Just as he was about to shut the rear door, the disgruntled paroled felon paused to take one more potshot at his nemesis. “Since you seem to be so into traditions, Peter, I’ll just bet you even believe in a jolly little fat man winging his way across the world with a sleigh full of goodies.”</p><p>The older man smiled at the snark but didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe I don’t believe in Santa, Neal, but I do believe in Christmas miracles. Traditions are all about faith, Buddy, so that means I truly want to believe that I’ll never have to envision someone else winging his way across the world with a bag full of goodies.”</p><p>Neal found he didn’t have a comeback for that.</p>
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